Page 36 of A Mistake of Worth
His throat tightened unexpectedly. “That was years ago, but...” He swallowed. “I haven’t ridden in months,” he added, softer. His voice grew distant, wistful. “I used to live for it, you know? The way the horse springs beneath you, the split-second decisions, the feeling of being one with this powerful creature. It was my refuge. The only place I felt truly free.”
He swallowed hard. “I thought about joining a local field hunting club last year. Nothing serious, just weekend rides. I mentioned it to Marc, thinking he’d approve, it’s very respectable, upper-class. But suddenly he decided riding was making my thighs too muscular. Said it wasn’t good for my figure anymore.” Henri’s laugh was hollow. “Marc prefers sleek forms on his partners. Riding was the last thing that was just mine. And he took that too.”
Michael’s voice was tight with barely controlled anger. “You should start riding again.”
Henri scoffed, a bitter sound. “You have no idea what Marc is capable of.”
“No,” Michael said. “I don’t think I do. Because you haven’t finished the story yet, have you?”
Henri’s face went pale. He was quiet for a long moment, then his voice came out flat and distant.
“He dislocated my shoulder.”
Michael’s tone sharpened slightly. “How?”
Henri hesitated, then glanced up briefly before returning his gaze to the coffee. “He made me sleep with my arms bound behind my back. Said I needed to remember my place.” His fingers flexed around the mug. “When he tied them, he yanked up. Hard. It popped.”
A beat passed.
“I’ve made other mistakes before that,” he continued, quicker now, as if he could outrun the silence. “And after. It’s how you learn the rules, isn’t it? By crossing them. Punishments... that’s how I learned where the lines were.”
Michael didn’t answer, and the silence made Henri defensive. “It wasn’t even the worst punishment,” he added, shaking his head. “Just the last time I disobeyed him. Publicly.”
Michael’s voice was deceptively neutral. “What do you mean publicly?”
Henri frowned faintly. “It was... I went into public. Without permission. That was the problem.”
“So he told you no, in public?”
“No.” Henri blinked, confused. “He told me no at home.”
“And the disobedience was...?”
“I went out. In public. Without him. Which embarrassed him publicly.”
Michael stared at him.
Henri looked away, heat creeping up his neck. “I know it doesn’t make sense to you.”
“Because it doesn’t make sense, Henri.”
“It makes sense to him.” Henri’s voice dropped. “Which means it has to make sense to me.”
“He deliberately dislocated your shoulder as punishment for having coffee with friends. And then he made you sleep that way.” Michael stated it flatly, his rage evident despite his calm tone.
“Well, I couldn’t sleep,” Henri laughed bitterly.
“Henri.” Michael’s voice gentled, though Henri could still hear the underlying anger. “Listen to what you’re saying. He hurt you for having coffee with friends. He’s taken away something you love. That’s not love. That’s not even friendship.”
Henri looked away. “You don’t understand. Marc... he needs structure. Rules. Without them, he spirals. And when I break them—”
“When you break them, he breaks you. He tortures you.”
Henri opened his mouth to protest, to explain.
But Michael cut him off. “What would you say if someone treated Jean the way Marc treats you?”
Henri flinched. “That’s different. Jean’s just a kid.”
